


i'm giving you my trigger but you better never pull it

by callunavulgari



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Drabble Collection, F/F, F/M, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, M/M, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Quadrant Confusion, Sloppy Makeouts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 11:47:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/661650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callunavulgari/pseuds/callunavulgari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You smell like cotton candy," the little troll girl tells you. She's tucked under Dirk's father-brother-ancestor-whatever's arm, grinning wide with a mouthful of shark teeth. "Yeah, well, you smell like poo," you retort, because you may be sober now, but you're still you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm giving you my trigger but you better never pull it

**Author's Note:**

> The Homestuck version of the Fifteen Words Meme, because as much as I love crossover pairings and drabbles, I also wanted to explore more of the Homestuck characters than just Dave and Karkat. These drabbles range from pg-ish to explicit, so beware.
> 
> Fifteen Words Meme  
> 01: Karkat Vantas   
> 02: John Egbert   
> 03: Terezi Pyrope   
> 04: Meenah Peixes   
> 05: Gamzee Makara  
> 06: Eridan Ampora  
> 07: Jade Harley  
> 08: Roxy Lalonde  
> 09: Sollux Captor   
> 10: Vriska Serket

  
**1\. Last kiss, 1 and 9 (Karkat Vantas and Sollux Captor)**  
You always knew it was going to end like this, always knew it was going to end in blood and tears. That's just the way this game works. It's taken so many of you now and with every perigree that passes you by, you wonder when it will be your turn. You didn't count on you being one of those to survive, didn't expect the blood to not be yours.  
  
By now you've watched Sollux die so many times that one would think it would have lost some shock value—you think you should be used to seeing mustard yellow blood stream from his ocular cavities and every other fucking orifiice.  
  
You aren't used to it. You don't think you'll ever get the chance to get used to it, because you're pretty sure this will be the last time. No Feferi to bring him back, his dream selves are dead, and this is the end for him. He's taken your swan song and made it his own, and like this, you don't know if you hate him or pity him. When you kneel over him, he gurgles blood at you in something that might be a greeting or an insult or something in between. You don't know. You can't understand him, not when he's got a mouthful of snaggletooth and blood.  
  
He reaches for your face, and you flinch, because if he paps you, you are going to _lose your fucking shit._  
  
Instead, he just grabs a handful of ear and drags you closer, claws digging weakly into your skin. He drags you closer and closer until you're right up in his face, where you can smell the acrid burnt ozone smell of his psiionics and the wet, metallic tint of his blood. He's the one to touch his lips to yours, smearing his blood across your lips and chin, and you think this is fucking it. You can't handle this anymore.  
  
He slumps back after, chest heaving, and then—then the grubfucker _smiles_ at you right before he goes limp.  
  
You sit over his corpse for too long, blood like drool on your chin and your eyes all full of tears.  
  
The asshole would manage to find a way to say goodbye without even being able to talk.  
  
 **2\. Dream, 4 (Meenah Peixes)**  
You are a corpse, the deadest of all rotting things, and you are rocking the look. You saw to that. It was you who changed the game, you who realized that for you to win, you would have to die. So that's what you do. You explode everyone, watch the rest of your crew turn to nothing more than lumps of charred flesh and a candyland canvas of color. It makes a real pretty picture, you think, but then you're too busy dying to give a glubbing fuck.  
  
Being a ghost aint all that bad—after all, you still F-E-EL alive.  
  
Best thing though, 'bout being dead is that you get to experience Vantas-junior, Shouty McShoutynubs, Karcrab—well, he aint too bad, compared to the rest of them. You kinda like him, and not just because he's so funny when he really gets going. He's the best little tuna to talk to, and you like the way his hips sway a little when he walks—in little stuttered movements like he's trying to get his meander on all nonchalant like, but failing on account of being an adorable little mackeral whose ass has its own gravitational orbit.  
  
So naw, the ghost thing aint too bad at all if it means you might have a chance of getting into Shouty's pants.  
  
 **3\. Threesome, 2, 5, and 6 (John Egbert, Gamzee Makara, and Eridan Ampora)**  
The human makes little squeaky noises when Makara prods him in certain ways, entire body twitching like you've just shoved your wand up his ass. He mewls, body arching and writhing like he doesn't know how to handle Makara's mouth so close to his dick when there's three fingers shoved up his waste chute—like he doesn't know whether he's scared to death or helplessly turned on.  
  
You solve the problem for him by leaning forward and licking a long, wet line down his neck, nipping gently at the bleeding marks that Makara's left behind. The human gasps, a shaky little thing, his breath against your gills, all hot and perfect. You must make a satisfied noise, because the human makes a sound that isn't unlike the way you purr when you're pleased—a happy little humming noise that comes from his chest and rumbles up his throat.  
  
Makara laughs and it makes your skin crawl when he leans forward and clamps his teeth down on your shoulder. He's less than you are, in both blood and power, but that doesn't stop you from shuddering as his teeth scrape over your flesh. It's not that you're scared—you're both dangerous—but there's something so off about him, weird clown religions and sopor pies.  
  
The human—Egbert, makes another noise, and when you return your attention to him, he's staring at you, eyes blue on white and so very alien that it makes your instincts growl at you, screaming to _cull it now, traitor._ You don't know much about Egbert, he was always more Vriska and Karkat's human, not yours. But when you walked in to him wailing beneath a grinning Gamzee... well, who are you to pass up temptation as inviting as that?  
  
 **4\. Color, 3 and 8 (Terezi Pyrope and Roxy Lalonde)**  
"You smell like cotton candy," the little troll girl tells you. She's tucked under Dirk's father-brother-ancestor-whatever's arm, grinning wide with a mouthful of shark teeth.  
  
"Yeah, well, you smell like poo," you retort, because you may be sober now, but you're still _you._  
  
The troll girl cackles at you and shrugs out from under the Dirk-lookalike's arm, her grin widening as she approaches you. Her cane swings back and forth pointedly and you wonder if she does it to catch her prey off guard, to make people underestimate her. She smacks the cane up against your shins when she gets close enough, and even though you expected it, it still stings. Girl's got an arm on her.  
  
It's hard to tell with her pointy red shades, but it seems like she's peering up at you with her dead eyes, face tilted upwards—but nope, nope, definitely not looking at you judging by the long _sniff_ that she takes. "I like it," she eventually proclaims, and you just have to smile at her.  
  
You tweak one of her horns and grin.  
  
 **5\. Angst, 7 and 10 (Jade Harley and Vriska Serket)**  
"I'm boooooooored. Being dead sucks," Serket whines. You spare her a glance and roll your eyes.  
  
"Yeah, well, being alive isn't a walk in the park either."  
  
You don't like being pessimistic. It just isn't you. But something about Serket just brings it out of you. She annoys you almost more than Karkat did in those first couple of months, you hate getting stuck in dream bubbles with her. You watch her swing her legs over the abyss you're both sitting at the edge of, humming something that sounds like music from Pirates of the Carribean.  
  
"John talked about you a lot," you tell her suddenly. You're being vindictive, you know, and it's worth it to see a brief frown crinkle her features. You wish all the ghosts didn't have such _dead_ white eyes. After a moment, she scoffs at you, but it doesn't have the same oomph that it usually does. This is Vriska Serket in pain, you think as she glares out into the black.  
  
"Yeah, well, he's right to. I'm amazing."  
  
You both stare out into the abyss until you finally wake up.  
  
 **6\. End, 5 (Gamzee Makara)**  
You never could get your understand on when it came to yourself. Your early years were all full to the max of loneliness, your thinkpan stuffed all the way to your ears with feels. You grew up knowing all about the feeling of being all by your lonesome, nobody to jam with, your lusus gone to sea and not a single other brother or sister to fill your cranium up with something other than the whisperings of your merciful messiahs.  
  
Your pan aint rotted enough that you can't get your remember on about the first time you popped a handful of slime into your mouth, how the goo drowned everything else out until your head was all full of stardust and the most bitchin' of dream powders.  
  
You don't quite remember meeting the others, the memory smeared with brain juice and sopor, but you do remember the way it had made the loneliness fuckin' _vacate_ your _motherfuckin'_ head for a little while. You still went down to the shore every night, buried your hands and feet in the glittery sand, and watched the moons until the sky started to lighten—but the gaping hole in your chest stopped bein' quite so cumbersome, not worth your motherfucking time.  
  
Now, your head's all up and clear, sharp as glass and just as cracked. Your mouth stretches wide in grins that you didn't motherfuckin' sanction, teeth bared and claws at the fuckin' ready. It makes the part of you that's still really _you_ itch for a sopor pie, 'cause you'd rather get your motherfuckin' chill on than disembowel a brother.  
  
Even after you and Karkat get your diamond on, you still itch—your skin feels stretched too tight, your bloodpusher all up in your motherfuckin' throat. When he bleeds, your pan shrieks at you, loud phantom sounds and screams to _cull the mutant, cull it now_. You clench your hands so tight that you get purple all up and over the floor, watch yourself bleed until your little palebro notices and shooshes you until the screams fade into the back of your rotted pan.  
  
For a while, it works. For a good long motherfuckin' time your little diamond bro, your precious little nub brother makes it work. The voices quiet and you feel free—but then, but motherfuckin' then, they start makin' noise again—a righteous fucking symphony and a fuckin' prophecy to end all.  
  
The cherub fucker smells like heresy and god all mixed together into a bitchin' motherfuckin' pie, and as you turn the key, you close your eyes and picture your best motherfuckin' friend's face.  
  
Either way, whether your plan works out or fails as spectacularly as the rest of you, this is the beginning of the motherfuckin' miracle—the fucking end.  
  
hONK.  
  
 **7\. Rule, 4 and 8 (Meenah Peixes and Roxy Lalonde)**  
"We could conquer the universe together," she grins at you. It's as disconcerting as it is hot, those sharp teeth against those pink lips, and you clench your thighs together and grit your teeth against the swell of heat in your gut. She's too close to you, breath cool against the heated skin of your neck and you wonder what it would be like to touch her—how it would feel to scrape your teeth up against her throat and slide a hand down her pants—if she'd be slick and cold where you run hot.  
  
Her grin widens, stretched into something eerie that's probably designed to intimidate _the fuck_ out of the rest of her merry little ghost army. She sidles even closer, and as if she's thinking along the same lines as you, she smears pink lipstick against your throat and _bites_ —  
  
It's sexy when humans do it, not that you have much experience in the area, but you imagine it would be pleasant with one of your kind. With ghosty fish chick, it _hurts_ , and you hiss in pain even as she hums with pleasure. You snarl and bare your teeth in her direction and she outright laughs in your face, head thrown back to bare the long vulnerable line of her throat. You take it as an invitation, clamping your teeth down and turning into her, yanking at her braids until the laughter fades into a growl.  
  
"I'm gonna have to decline," you tell her as she hitches your skirt up to your hips, groping around until she's pressing against your cunt through the fabric of your panties. She flashes you another grin as she fucking _shreds_ your panties and gets two fingers inside you before you have the time to do more than gasp.  
  
You clench around her and fuck, fuck, fuck, but you're so damn wet—slick enough that you're dripping a little as she guides your mouth to hers. It isn't like normal kissing, not like the kiss you'd pressed to Dirk's lips—no, fish girl mauls your lips, all teeth and the metallic taste of blood and cool swipes of a long tongue. She laughs again against your lips and you barely have time to register the thump of her pants hitting the ground before she's pushing you back until you hit a wall—hitching your leg up and you don't know what weird shit trolls have got in their pants, didn't get a chance to see, but she's pushing _inside_ of you, making you throw your head back and moan—  
  
She licks into your mouth, purring as she starts this stuttery little rhythm that's _nothing_ like earth porn. It feels like she's wriggling around inside of you, like whatever not-dick apparatus she's got down there is writhing around, massaging your fucking insides. It feels weird as shit, sure, but it also turns your legs to jelly and your gut into an inferno, all molten heat that spreads to your cunt.  
  
You sneak a glimpse between the two of you, pushing the folds of your skirt out of the way, and you can't make out much more than something pink and wet moving between your legs. You gawk long enough that she notices, surging forward to clamp her teeth down on your shoulder, her not-dick picking up the pace and—  
  
You come, caught unawares, but she doesn't stop moving, grinning as you thrash against her—caught between her and the wall.  
  
"You reconsidered yet, little anemone?" she asks you, voice a little ragged, and you just gasp your way to another orgasm as she fucks you and fucks you and fucks you until you can't see straight.  
  
When she finally comes, her body goes ramrod still, her not-dick all the way inside you—and there's the other surprise, because she just _keeps coming_ , filling you up until you gasp—wet fluid splattering against your feet like a fucking waterfall. She pulls out of you and ugh, yep, it doesn't so much trickle down your thighs as it does gush out of you. You scowl at her, oddly proud of the thin traces of pink blood where you'd bitten her and how her lipstick is smudged down her chin.  
  
You feel kind of jilted that you didn't get a chance to use those horns of hers as handholds, and briefly you entertain the idea of taking hold of them and forcing her to her knees, making her clean up the mess she's made of your lower half with just her tongue.  
  
Instead, you just glare at her, your chest heaving and tell her, "It'll take a lot more than a good fuck to convince me to join you."  
  
From the way she grins, you're pretty sure she took that as a challenge.  
  
 **8\. Explode, 1 and 2 (Karkat Vantas and John Egbert)**  
"You threw a fucking pail at me, you dumb busfucker, what did you expect me to think?"  
  
He blushes prettily, and you watch, fascinated as the red spreads to his cheeks. You know that humans don't blush the way trolls do, their skin is thinner, so for them, their entire face is flooded with their blood color. It's weird as all blistering hell. "That was from everyone!" he protests, waving his hands at you. "Me and Jade and Davesprite! It wasn't like, a solicitation or something."  
  
You blink at him for a moment, gritting your teeth.  
  
You aren't going to kid yourself, you'd been looking forward to meeting Egbert. Three years on an asteroid with two pairs of interspecies couples can get pretty annoying, and well, whatever. It's not like it was super lonely or anything, but sometimes you'd gotten jealous of the way Terezi and Strider licked faces, or how Kanaya and Lalonde got their cuddle on in every single corridor. Your feelings on Egbert flip from flushed to black to fucking _platonic_ depending on your mood, so really, you don't know what you expecting—him to happily march into your life and confess? As if, the fucker's never even seen you.  
  
You're about to just give up and surrender to his ridiculous human _friendship_ when Jade materializes beside you, already bouncing on the balls of her feet. She squeaks a little bit, clapping her hands and flinging her arms around you. "Hey there, fuckass!" she shouts, and your ears burn as your hands waver, unsure of where to put your hands.  
  
When she pulls back, she's grinning, endearing overbite and all, and happily says, "Don't listen to John, it wasn't actually a solicitation three years ago, but he's totally open to the idea now."  
  
Then she kisses you, full on the mouth.  
  
It's a... sloppy kiss—teeth and tongue and spit, but after a moment you find it in you to respond, even if your halfhearted attempts to match her enthusiasm are pretty lackluster. She pulls away after several moments and grins brightly again, sliding out of your arms and pushing John towards you.  
  
And then you have an armful of stammering, red-faced Egbert who doesn't seem to know what to do—  
  
But then he kisses you too, and even if he's not as passionate about it as Jade, it's still... pretty nice.  
  
It's you who finally pulls away, and only because Jade has managed to get herself behind you and has gotten a firm hold on your ass.  
  
Your chest is heaving a bit and you just know that John isn't the only one blushing anymore. When you glance back at Jade she is _still grinning at you_ , her hands kneading your ass in a way that has your hips stuttering a little bit against Egbert's. "How's that for sloppy interspecies makeouts," Jade says smugly.  
  
A polite cough is what catches your attention before you can respond to her, and it suddenly comes back to you that you are in a room with other people, most of which are watching you with smirks, or in the case of Dave, sniggering uncontrollably.  
  
You do the only thing that you _can_ do in this situation.  
  
You completely fucking explode.  
  
 **9\. AU, 3 and 9 (Terezi Pyrope and Sollux Captor)**  
You aren't the best hacker out there—far from it, really. You dabble enough that you go out four times a year to get the latest copy of 2600, are familiar enought with nmap, metasploit, and aircrack-ng, and when you were ninteen, you spent one of the best weekends of your life at Defcon, getting drunk and trying to nmap the lecturer's laptops. You've even got a[ spot the fed t-shirt](http://images.dailytech.com/nimage/DEFCON_I_Spotted_The_Fed.jpg) to prove it, even if it's a little torn from when you woke up in a gutter Sunday morning.  
  
For the most part, you're just another shitty programmer working a shitty job getting paid a shitty amount of money. You may be a sad excuse for a hacker, but you're not half bad at programming. You've been able to more or less code in your sleep since late middle school and your skills have only improved over the years.  
  
So the cops come as a surprise—showing up on your doorstep because the last time you tried to hack into shit while you were drunk, you got a little bit too sloppy. It sucks, it really fucking does, but for once, luck is apparently on your side.  
  
The lawyer that you're appointed (because you're too fucking broke to afford one of your own) is a new up and coming, a petite girl with olive skin and brown hair so light that at first you think it's a muddied red. Her grin is a wide, almost scary thing, baring as many teeth possible, that she's sure to use against the opposition. You wouldn't even know she was blind if not for the cane she carries around, easing herself around obstacles as easily as you do. When you ask her about it, she cackles at you and explains synesthesia and the accident she'd had a few years ago—how she can still see now, even without her eyes.  
  
You like her, despite yourself and not just because she's so confident that she'll win your case.  
  
(Four years later, you're still a free man, and you meet Pyrope at the bar down the street every Friday.)  
  
 **10\. Alone, 6 (Eridan Ampora)**  
You're pretty used to being alone, even if Fef was a pretty constant presence for most of your life. After you start your session, it's a completely different story. You're alone even when you're not, lonely even when you're surrounded by the rest of your group. You get it, okay, you kind of do. Nobody likes you, and some part of you thinks that they're right to platonically hate your guts. But the rest of is just one big black hole of depression, sucking you in.  
  
You watch Fef prance about with the yellow blooded fuckface and you can't help but sneer and make yourself scarce. You fight angels and you troll Karkat and some of the humans, but it doesn't make you feel any less shitty. You ask Karkat to visit you, almost constantly, and he's pretty good at dealing with you in his own Karkat way. He shouts a lot and flings obscenities as if they're endearments, but you can tell that he only half means it. For a while, you think he might pity you, but you guess you'll never know.  
  
You feel sick when you first get the memo, your collapsing and expanding bladder based aquatic vascular system crawling up your throat to choke you even as you mock him. You watch angry gray text fill the screen and even if you know his words are likely the most platonic of platonic hate, you can't help the flush that spreads to your gills. That kind of hate is something that even Vriska had never given you, and sure, you're as flushed for Karkat as you can get, but you'll take whatever he can give you.  
  
You try to be a good friend, but when you ask him if he wants to talk about it, he just bans you, just like that, and you watch as Gamzee starts trolling him, your insides clamping up at how panicked Kar seems.  
  
You remind yourself to ask him about it the next time you see him, maybe work up the nerve to actually not hit on him like a douchebag and just tell him you like him. Maybe then he'll come visit lowwaa with you and you can kill a bunch of angels together. It'll be like a date, and maybe then you won't feel quite so damn alone anymore.


End file.
